The Price of Immortal Dreams
by Trynia Merin
Summary: MacBeth is training Marianne Ellis in the ways of the sword, but Demona and Thailog team up with someone to plunge him into eternal sleep...


Disclaimer: the Characters of Gargoyles are owned by Disney, Buena Vista Television. The characters of Heka and Scarab are property of DIC. Dr. Marianne Ellis is property of Trynia Merin. Chas Quin Cassidy is property of Beth Strong, javagoddess, who I use with her permission. All other characters are either mine or interpretations of known figures in the public domain. No harm is intended by this story or the use of these characters. I wish to thank Beth Strong for help in developing the ideas for this story.

The Price of Immortal Dreams 

By Trynia Merin 

All the World's a stage, and the players merely actors

For what is life... but 

A tale full of Sound and fury signifying nothing...

-MacBeth, Shakespeare

* * *

"I tell you Hecka, this is something I should have thought of years ago!" Scarab laughed. "At least now I can stop chasing that brat!"

"Oh, and this is any easier?" Hecka quipped. Scarab tossed her absently into her urn. She rattled there for a moment, rolling around the rim before plunging inside. 

"Let's just say if it doesn't work I'll have more then one chance then," Scarab snickered. "Oh, this is so rich..."

"What makes you think that your spell will work on anything other then a Pharaoh?"

"Pharaohs were kings of ancient Egypt," Scarab laughed. "And were supposedly immortal. The soul of Rapses is immortal, but takes so much trouble with those blasted mummies to get. And here was an unwitting source, right before me all this time."

"And what is this, oh evil one?"

"MacBeth!" he laughed.

"That was the worst play we ever saw," Hecka groaned. "And what do blood covered daggers and ancient murders have to do with immortality?

"Pay attention while I'm soliloquizing!" Scarab snapped. 

"Scarab, you're loosing me..."

"Work with me Hecka!" he groaned. "What do we know about Pharaohs? They were supposed to have immortal spirits. And what do we know about immortality?"

"A, it's impossible, B, every plot you've had has ended in disaster, C, the guardians will not stop till you're toast..."

"Why do I even bother," Scarab rolled his eyes. He counted mentally to ten before continuing. "As I was saying, and it was a rhetorical question... what do we know about immorality. One needs powerful magic to achieve it. And yes, I have not! Because of those stinking mummies..."

"Yes..."

"But what if I turned elsewhere. For there are those who have achieved it!"

"Who pray tell?"

"Who indeed. For there are two such beings in this world I have learned of who are immortal. And both are within my grasp."

"What?"

"MacBeth..."

"Not the Scottish play," Hecka hushed him. "That's bad luck to say that name..."

"Ooh...."

* * *

"I still cannot believe this," she whispered, glancing at all the priceless antiques to her left and right. Large glass cases worthy of a museum were filled with armaments from many centuries. It would put the British Museum itself to shame.

It was a Saturday, and Marianne Ellis was reporting for her usual swordfighting lesson. For the past four months she'd studied broadsword combat techniques from MacBeth himself. He had noticed her promise as a warrior, and fully intended to help hone the natural abilities to transform her into a more effective fighter. Since their escapade with the Challice of Morgan Le Fay, MacBeth had made every effort to make peace between himself and the Gargoyles. At the time the Weird sisters had renewed their spell of possesion upon him and upon Demona in an effort to thwart Morgana's plans, for they desired that her Challice be given to their lord Oberon.

Chas still considered MacBeth a threat, yet tolerated Marianne's lessons with him. Unfortunately MacBeth was the more skilled warrior, and any skills she could learn from the immortal king would be a great benefit to her role as Champion of St. George. This fact grated on Chas' nerves. However he had made it clear that if MacBeth would so much as sneeze wrong, he'd be back with a vengance. MacBeth suspected that would mean a sudden appearance of dragons outside the castle in upstate New York that he called home. Now that he was mending relationships with the Gargoyles, he had to exhibit his best behavior.

Another Saturday of another week in New York City. Bored to tears with yet another carbon 14 sample, she had instinctively reached for that phone to call Chas for a weekend. Only to remember at the last moment that he wasn't in the City. In fact he wasn't even in the whole state of New York proper! Neither upstate nor downstate. Nor was he in this country. Wistfully she picked up the postcard of Dublin, and shook her head. Why did he have to pick this time of all times to go to Ireland without her? What added insult to injury was the simple fact that she'd used up all her vacation time with her forays with King Arthur. This time of year was she most busy with the recent acquisitions. More and more it was difficult to escape for some night of sanity to unwind. Even if your new friends were Gargoyles. And if your boyfriend was in another country, for a photoshoot lasting two months, it wasn't easy to keep the bed warm waiting for him to come home.

"Crumbs," she muttered to herself, in a very foul mood indeed. Looking at the suits of armor as she continued to walk had made it worse. Even Brooklyn failed to cheer her up, as she clung to his neck on the flight over here. He'd picked the absolute worst time to play chicken with Lexington. It was all perhaps his idea of taking her mind off of Chas not being there. But it had miserably backfired when he narrowly avoided hitting a church steeple on Wall Street.

Then Marianne insisted he take her to the Castle, or else no more elevensies at her apartment. Brooklyn hated to think of missing hot chocolate and those great digestive biscuits at her place. Ever since her move to NYC she often had the Trio over for snacks. To insure further visits, he flew as straight "as the crow flies" to drop her off in the courtyard. Promising to return by twelve at the latest to bring her home.

Marianne left the armor gallery far behind, stepping into the main hall. Still some scaffolding was up, bearing witness to the expensive renovations the owner undertook. Her eyes took in the tapestries and paintings lining the walls. She had never cared for Xanatos's taste in neoclassical medieval, and MacBeth's tastes were far superior. For she actually could believe she had been transported to eighteenth century Scotland. The butlers were not present, nor were any of the maids. Just one occupant as he poked at the fire on his haunches. Marianne slipped her sword casing off her arm, and chuckled. The master of the home turned, his gray eyes fixing upon hers in a smile as he clutched wineglass in one hand. "Yer early this night... guid..."

"No thanks to Gargoyle express," she muttered crossly. The silver haired gentleman raised a bushy eyebrow at her cross expression, moving towards a sideboard.

"C'n I get ye a drink then... lass..."

"Is it wise to imbibe before practice?" she asked him. 

"Tis a day to celebrate," he said, pouring another glass of what appeared to be Taylor's crème sherry. It was one of her favorites next to the Killian's Red and Guinness Stout.

"No practice? No lesson?" she asked, wondering at the aroma of Brie from the wooden table. Classical Louis XIII furniture had been brought to decorate the main hall, the marble fireplace itself painted in French pre Revolutionary style.

"The lads had been telling me ye've had quite a mood lately," he said, handing her the glass of sherry. Sighing she took a sip, and let it run down her hot throat. "I thought it no harm in breaking out a bit of the old Scottish hospitality for one of my best students..."

"Lennox, you are mad," she shook her head as she noticed the velvet smoking jacket and brandy in his hand. "One would think you had some ulterior motive..."

"Being?" he asked, his eyes fixing onto hers for a moment.

"The fact that my significant other just happens to be out of the country at this moment, and that I have had a wretched day and sherry is just the thing I require... plus the company of a friendly... if human face..."

He gave a small laugh, and sipped his brandy. "Really, Dr. Ellis, what sort of a man do you think I am? The sort who would steal the love of another man's life from under his nose..."

At these words his eyes twinkled mischievously, and Marianne had to laugh out loud. "It just so happens we like the same things..." she countered. "Coincidence, I think not..."

"Now, how about the Brie..." he asked, sitting down in a comfortable chair as she did the same.

"Scottish hospitality has taken a French flavor," she laughed.

"Well, as you know the French supported the Jacobite monarchs..." MacBeth said, delicately slicing off a bit of the Brie, and applying it to a cracker. 

"Mmn hmm, and I suppose you are going to say you were in the thick of it?"

"You could put it that way..."

"Hence the French décor?"

"That was purely out of boredom," he laughed dismissively. "One gets tired of the same period over and over. It never hurts to... recycle..."

"All that is old is new again," she nodded, biting into a thick chunk of Brie on a crispy wafer. Followed by a sip of sherry.

* * *

"Now we are ready," came a gruff voice from out of the darkness. Already the clouds had hidden the face of the moon, plunging MacBeth's lands into a dingy darkness. Not even starlight filtered through the impending storm.

"Soon it will be an end," came a luscious alto voice, joining his in laughter. "Two lives in madness... with all the toil and trouble he could want..."

* * *

"So have you actually met Bonny Prince Charlie?" she asked, and sipped at her second glass of sherry. The warmth of the fire soaked into her wool sweater, a soft gray match to his hair strangely enough. Long forgotten fencing gear still was stowed away in the duffle bag to one side of the couch. 

"Indeed I did," MacBeth nodded, his gray eyes tracing appreciatively over her plaid skirt. "And I see ye yourself are acquainted wi' the Stewarts..."

"Oh... this..." she laughed. "Well, it's more MacLaren actually... the Stewart is extremely thin I think..."

"Scottish royalty," he laughed, refilling her glass. "I knew it..."

"Are you implying that we might be distantly related," she giggled. Silly thing this alcohol, making the oddest thoughts jumps off the tip of her tongue.

"Well, perhaps so," MacBeth said. "For Findleach ma own Father was related to King Duncan... himself. And the Royal Appin Stewarts can trace their own roots to him!"

"Were you... a cousin then?"

"A cousin to Canmore," MacBeth said, in a slow hushed whisper as she moved closer to him on the couch. As if he was telling a secret he dared not reveal to anyone else.

"The hunters," she muttered. MacBeth's own thoughts grew dark. "And your own son..."

"Murdered..."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, placing a hand upon his. 

"Yer sentiment is appreciated," he grunted. "But that was long past. Another lifetime..."

She pulled her hand away with a gasp. MacBeth too did the same. But it wasn't for awkwardness, but because of the sudden banging noise they both heard. "What..."

"Perhaps but a stray shutter flapping in the wind... as it's wuthering over the moors," he muttered.

"Still... it's a nasty storm brewing," she muttered, seeing the rain spattering the windows. The low rumble 

of thunder echoed in the large hall. She stiffened, her hand gripping the sofa.

"And ye are no stranger to hating thunderstorms," he guessed, rising. 

"It's silly really, but..."

"No, we canne be too careful," he muttered, as there came another bang. MacBeth reached under the table, drawing out a small holster and pistol.

"Take this. I'll be but a minute..."

"But where are you..."

"T' check security. I'll be able t' see what's coming from there. Don't trouble yerself. Finish yer drink whilst I see what is aboot..."

She pulled out the strange weapon, silencing her protest as MacBeth patted her hand. He was gone in the next instant. Sighing she shook her head. 

Another thump startled her, followed by another as she heard footsteps. Perhaps it was just MacBeth himself, vanishing to whatever secret hidey-hole his security camera readouts was stashed in. Marianne sipped the rest of her sherry, putting down the glass. Slowly she caressed the handle of the gun, drawing it out of the holster. It was one of his inventions, a lightning charged taser. He'd used it in many of his hunts against the gargoyles. Holding it made her shiver uncomfortably.

The footsteps sounded just outside the door. Marianne drew in her breath, bringing the gun to bear, as Elisa Mazza would have done. She slipped behind the couch, raising the pistol first at the sound of footfalls in the room. Slowly she fired up the weapon, as he had shown her. The charge was set, and all she had to do next was to squeeze the trigger. Footsteps resounded closer, behind her. She spun; pistol leveled at a winged shape. It took but a fraction of a second to squeeze the trigger and that was what saved her face from becoming scarred for life.

Demona rolled over with a snarl, clutching her stomach. Marianne suddenly that realized if she was here then... whatever she did would seriously hurt her teacher!

"Nice, human... but it won't save you..." she hissed. Marianne's blood froze, as she saw the glowing red eyes, the seductive tapered body and violet wings. If Demona wasn't about to kill her she would think her beautiful for a gargoyle.

Marianne fired again, but knew it was fruitless, for the element of surprise was gone. She reached for her shield pin, and chanted, "By George I summon thine aid!"

Blue energy fizzled into nothingness. At that moment she realized she'd left it behind on her other jacket. "Stupid, stupid," she cursed, rolling out of the way as Demona's laser weapon burned a hole in MacBeth's new love seat. She landed behind the coffee table, and kicked it over to make a barrier. Lightening sizzled from the gun as Marianne's charge hit Demona's left wing. She let out an inhuman screeching sound, eyes flaring the room in crimson radiance.

"Don't you realize, fool, each blow against me will harm your precious friend?" she laughed, capeing her wings, with difficulty as the scorch mark was apparent.

"Then I'll just have to be gentle," Marianne gritted. She aimed above Demona's head, towards a rather large chandelier. _It worked in the movies_, she rationalized. But Demona's hearing was unaccounted for as she leapt free from the tumbling mass of crystal and brass. 

"Oh, I do think he will not like that, pitiful human..."

"Oh pack it in and fight, dammit!" Marianne gritted, firing again. Demona took two leaps, one to close the ten-foot gap, and another to bound over the table. Marianne rolled away, as the talons descended. She gripped her sword in its case, the pistol swiped from her grip by Demona's tail. The she gargoyle threw herself upon Marianne, snapping and hissing. Marianne desperately blocked the claws with the wrapped sword held before her face. Her stack heel shoes kicked at Demona's torso. It was like kicking a statue! 

Demona suddenly howled as energy crackled around her. And an simultaneous groan came from across the room as MacBeth hugged his stomach. Somehow he'd gotten to his armor, having suited up for this emergency. How had he known?

"Each the other's pain resound," Marianne gasped. It was a true statement. She cuffed Demona's jaw with the hilt of the sword, and scrambled away.

"Leave the lass alone," MacBeth gritted, tumbling forwards as he kicked Demona in the back. That long black coat hung from his shoulders, concealing the kevlar armor beneath it. Demona's talons raked against him with little effect.

"Oh have I struck a nerve," Demona laughed at him. "How quaint... you actually consorting with another human's mate?"

"Shut up ye," he growled, firing towards her with the celebrated net gun he'd used in Avalon. Quickly he placed himself between Marianne and the struggling gargoyle in her net. His black glove hand gripped hers, as he leaned over her. "Are ye all right..." 

"I think... look out!" she gasped, pulling him down. For in that instant his back was turned, Demona had worked free of the net. And leapt forth towards both of them.

"You should know better, MacBeth, then to turn your back on me for a second..."

"If I die, ye die!" he snapped, landing a kick on her face. Blood seeped from his own mouth as he fell to the floor simultaneously. Marianne gripped him, dabbing at the crimson trickle. She gripped the longsword in her hand with its blade placed between the she-goyl and herself.

"Have you found a reason to live your miserable immortal existence," she taunted, licking the blood from her fangs. "Shame, shame shame... cavorting with your enemy's woman... could cost you a lot of trouble..."

"Tis none of your affair," he spat. "And what of ye? Marrying me whilst ye belonged t' Thailog?"

"That was a convenient plan. In case you forgot, we are still legally married... my husband..."

"Not till the damned divorce goes through," MacBeth spat.

"But that is not why I'm here. In fact it is rather convenient I found you two here together..."

"What are you on about," Marianne asked, as MacBeth pushed her behind him. Oh, for her armor at this moment! Her sword blade waved menacingly as she moved beside her teacher.

"A simple solution to both our problems. You... and me...." Demona cackled, reaching into her tunic. She withdrew a small scroll of parchment. And began to chant.

"Cover yer ears!" MacBeth told Marianne. But it was too late, as his student sank to the carpet, fighting to stay awake.

"No..." Marianne moaned. "Must stay awake... must..."

She fell limp in her teacher's arms. Carefully he lowered her to the carpet as he turned on Demona.

"So, you who were my enemies, you will sleep!" Demona laughed, a slow cackle. "Somnus, phantasma, et eterna!" she began to chant.

MacBeth clapped hands over his ears, groaning as he tried to stop the spell. "Ye fool, if I sleep you will as well..."

"Perhaps, but I won't be here..." she laughed. From behind her a figure in ebon black emerged with gleaming armor. As MacBeth felt wakefulness drift from him, he saw Demona fall as well, into the arms of her paramour.

"Sweet dreams, MacBeth," he laughed. The immortal king crumpled as his head and shoulders landed on Marianne's chest. 

"Thailog... ye genetic abomination..." MacBeth stammered out as he felt his cheek resting against her softness. His limbs froze, too weak to allow him to even raise his head and settle into a less awkward position. All he could do was blink up at the leering green.

"And now... to complete this little farce," Thailog laughed, as he raised his weapon. "Genetic abomination indeed." For what happened next was the last thing MacBeth expected. For some reason the spell was taking longer to affect him then it did Marianne. 

"You are immortal, as is Demona. But there must be certain changes that took place for this to be so. And my friend fully intends to find out what they are, my immortal one... but I cannot let you or her, or her paramour spoil my fun. So what better way then to put you on ice?"

"But your.... Love will also..." MacBeth stifled a yawn, trying desperately to keep his eyes open.

"How true," Demona muttered sleepily from Thailog's arms. "For our ally will pay a very high price for both of you... your student, and you an immortal king." 

Thailog bent over, pulling out the strange syringe dark in MacBeth's arm. It was hollow, much like a syringe. Carefully he placed it among his clothing. Then taking Demona in his arms he leapt out the French windows.

* * *

MacBeth groaned in his own slumber, shifting his position as he fought the impending darkness. All his memories, were they but illusions? Was a thousand years of memory nothing? Beneath his cheek, Marianne grumbled, tossing and turning for the millionth time. It just was the craziest thing she could imagine. All memories washed away on the sea of dreams she flailed about in. Arms flailed to try and surface, her aching lungs gasping for air.

Till she washed up on the surface. With a toss of her head she cleared her mouth and nose of brine. The wet strands smacked back into her bleary eyes. Where was she? Overhead the gray slate skies rumbled ominously.

"Bloody terrific," she grumbled with as much anger as the thunderclouds. "Just what I need..."

Wet salty air stung her lips and sensitive eyelids. She heaved in her breath, shivering in the freezing tide. Wherever it was, it was definitely not the Pacific ocean. Through the rising swells she struggled to catch some glimpse of land. Anything. Another sting of salty water slapped her face. Bringing her hands up she pushed against the walls of water. Her buoyant body shot under, then up. Hands and feet coordinated to kick. Thank God she was a decent swimmer, she reflected.

On the next bob she spotted high cliffs. Green rolling hills and craggy mountains? Or was it an illusion? Too freezing cold to be a heat mirage, it must be land. It wouldn't be long before the icy waters chilled her to her bones, freezing her core. Another wash tossed her towards dangerous whitecaps. Each stroke her head bobbed, only to plunge into the icy water. Marianne rolled onto her side, and swung her legs in a scissor kick with a sidestroke. Perhaps if she could keep her head more out of the water she might have a chance.

How had she ended up in this frozen hell? Some muddled images flew out of her brain, and she found herself startled by the sounds of seagulls overhead. They seemed to warn that the huge crashing surf angrily battered rocky coast. Sharply she drew in her breath, stopping her stroke as the tide carried her headlong. A silent whispered prayer and she was stumbling, half swimming onto a sandy spur of beach. Hardly she had time to notice the clinging undershirt that was the remains of some costume. It stuck to her body in all the wrong places, or all the right ones if she was set to play a mermaid. Two steps into sandy beach and the skirt tangled into her legs. Marianne cursed as she fell beachwards.

Minutes later she dragged her soggy exhausted body to the edge of the beach. Her weary head lifted to see green trees. Lonely the wind whipped her frizzled black hair, which had become just as plastered to her forehead as the ragged dress was to her body. The whole time element seemed wrong, she reflected, 

dragging herself into the shade of a tree. Immediately it began to pour. Fortunately the tree provided a good rainbreak. Then she began to convulsively shiver in the freezing air. A final gasp later she rolled over onto her back. Looking down the length of her body she once again took a good look at her garb: a 

long gown with laced up bodice and overdress. Something almost Renaissance in nature. But how in the name of sanity had she arrived here?

"Got... to do something... but what do I possibly have to build a fire with?"

Another jumble of memories sorted themselves out. She seemed to recall something about transmutation. What was flammable? Instantly she struggled to recall something, anything to help. Sleep came all too soon as she shivered again. Sheer exhaustion came over her once more, and she collapsed.

* * *

"Ye were all wet as I recall," came his voice, of a silver haired stranger. Marianne shook her head again. The memories were still swirling around. For a time she'd seemed out of her right mind, thrashing about in the glen. Was it a glen?

It had to be a glen. It somehow seemed the right word, in keeping with the accent that rolled off the man's tongue. She glanced around the small dimly lit space. A fire roared on a stone hearth, and one woman squatted to keep it going.

"I found her Da, I did," came a boy's voice. A thick Scottish brogue, which would put her Gran to shame.

"Whist, I know ma boy... but who is she..." 

Those were the first voices she had heard, before she moaned. Kind rough hands played over her, and gently lifted hot broth to her lips. Marianne shook her head, grumbling and muttering as her words drifted in and out. She noticed the accents, and the gleam of steel. Yet the odd swatches of rough wool. Could it be? 

"I am sorry," she said, mind coming back to the present. The silver-haired gentleman shifted his hat, glancing at the others assembled around the fire. Her knowing of Gaelic was fragmented, long underused. She'd learned it from her Mum, who was determined her children remember some vestige of their Scottish heritage.

All eyes had held suspicion. Marianne had come to in the last twelve hours, to a series of faces blackened with soot. Battle weary men, and work weary women. All dressed in clothes of homespun wool, of a very high quality. Glimpses of tartan on the men, with their great kilts, and the small flashes of silver jewelry. She had shaken the queries off, and looked at them, croaking, "Where am I?"

"We might ask you the same, lowlander," came the curt reply. "Since ye are a lass we cannot fair kill yet. But what be your name..."

Marianne shook her head, and suddenly murmured, "I know... you don't trust me... but I promise you... my own Gran was of MacLaren..."

"You lie... for your manner of speech is that of a lowlander..."

There came mutterings in Gaelic. "True, you may say that, but you can also tell your friend he has rather a limited sense of what constitutes hospitality..."

"You speak Gaelic?"

"Yes..." she said to them, struggling to recall what Gran had taught her, in the crisp dialect. It had a slight modern inflection, but the effect was not lost. 

"If tis true, ye are in the house of Alan James MacPherson… but if ye be hiding wi us, you'd have tae work…"

"I would do what you have of me, since I cannae remember exactly what happened…"

"Show me yer hands..." the wife of the house said.

She held forth chemical-scarred hands, with the roughness of a thousand rubber gloves put on and torn off. 

"Hmm, they are rough as if worked. Not some noblewoman," muttered the woman. 

"I can work, to repay you for your care of me..."

"Maybe so," the wife said. There was a nodding.She was left in silence, as the husband spoke with wife. And she lay there, shivering as they had given clothes. "If that be so, it is yet to be spoken. But as ye seem t' have strength in ye, ye may as well work fr the food given ye..."

"Willingly," she nodded, and lowered her eyes from theirs. She was given over to the ladies in the cottage, and moved quickly into service. The strange tasks were alien to her hands.

The images swam again to only a few hours after: She had worked dilligently, to the pleasure and admiration of Alan's wife, Michelle. There seemed a number of people who came and went in the cottage, she guessed these two must be more immediate relatives of the Clan chieftain. At least that is what it seemed. Through her movements to cook and clean she noticed the papers upon a rather nice desk in one low corner. "July, 1744…" were the dates on some of the letters she glimpsed.

"Mary, bring some ale to our guests," came a voice unmistakable. Smoothing out the apron that covered her borrowed dress, she hastened to comply. Within the kitchen several of the daughters passed instructions to her and three other women who happened to be servents. Whether they be protectorates or cousins she wasn't sure. At least through hard work she proved somewhat harmless.

A few more men had gathered in the main room. They clustered about the table, passing their greatcoats to her arms till she was almost a coatrack herself. Marianne guessed it must be midday, for the angle of the sun breaking the clouds left no pathes through the small windows. Men in breaches and some in great kilts, for in her mind she realized the wearing of tartan was banned. Those that must be in plainclothes would most likely be sympathizers or spies for this clain.

It was a remote village, by the sea. She could still smell the salt in the air, and hear the cry of the seagulls in the distance. Another man seated himself, throwing his coattails behind him as he chattered in Gaelic to Alan.

It had been there that she had seen the silver haired man. Something familiar struck her about him. As he had moved into the assemblage, she had been pouring wine and water for the men of the house. An awkward move in the floor had hurled her against him, and she gasped in Gaelic her apology.

"None necessary Lass," came the reply. She suddenly realized who he was. Despite the fact he wore bonnet and eighteenth century breaches, it was he. Those eyes, and that stern set brow. 

"MacBeth," she whispered hoarsely. Then caught her at his glare.

"I beg yuir pardon..." he said again. 

"Its... me... Marianne... MacLaren Ell..." she stammered out before she suddenly caught herself. Idiot! He wouldn't know you now!

"I... am sorry I mistook you for another," she lowered her eyes as she turned away. But his hand gripped her arm with that suppressing strength. She gasped. But it wasn't out of spite, for he was merely pulling her out of the way of another house visitor.

The man in question excused himself, gripping Marianne's arm in what seemed a friendly manner. Friendly yet firm, moving her away from the amused glances of the sons, uncles and cousins still tucking away their repast. "If ye'll excuse me fer a minute," he placed his bonnet upon his head with a tip of it towards Alan. Marianne then felt herself being pulled into the open air out of that dimly lit space.

"What sorcerer be you," he hissed under his breath. "Be ye a witch that would know that name?"

"I... am not from this time," she stammered out. "I know who you really are... MacBeth, son of Findleach... immortal, and unable to die..."

There was a look of pure shock and fear on the face, yet he composed himself almost immediately. "Ye are a sorceress indeed! Tell me, did you come from the Weird sisters... or to torment me?"

"No... I am as much trapped as you are, by time! I'm not even from this century. Magic may have sent me here... but I am not of this time!"

"Enough words... I should well burn you for what your kind has done t' me as of late..."

"I'll prove I'm not from now. Would I have an accent like this if I was from this time?" she asked, shifting into a very modern mode of speech. 

"You could well be from England, some county I do not know..." he countered. Still that arm was clenched tightly in his fist.

"I know that in another few years, this war will be over. And several thousand Redcoats will slay this clan alive on Culloden Muir," she choked. "If I am right in thinking this is 1744. And you've been in France for the last few decades helping the loyal Stewart supporters. Smuggling nobility back and forth..."

"You are indeed a sorceress..."

"But eventually you will be free of your curse, to Demona. You'll be pressed into service, to retrieve magical items for the Weird sisters. But you won't remember anything... and all this is in the time I come from... where gargoyles have survived... since Castle Wyvern..."

He shook his head. 

"Please... you're hurting my arm..." she breathed, trying hard to steady her racing heart. Ever so slowly he released his hold. And drew in a deep sigh. "If you are what you say, what be you lass from the future?"

"I know that you will go on to settle in America, in the early 20th century, in New York. You'll invent many new weapons and armors. And that you will not rest till Demona or yourself is dead... whichever comes first..."

"I've heard enough of this..." he gritted, pulling her close. "I ought to end this farce... witch!"

But he had not reckoned that a dirk blade lay against his chest. Marianne had slipped it away from him unnoticed. She twisted her arm oddly, pulling out of his special grip. How in blazes did she know that? "Very well, do you seek to put me to the test?" she asked, swinging the weapon menacingly in front of him.

"I don't fight women," he snarled.

"Even to save your life!" she cried, leaping at him with a blood curdling cry of "Crieag a Tuire!" that completely caught him off guard. The MacLaren clan cry she'd pulled out of some odd Highland games when her cousin Andrew MacLaren had competed thusly. MacBeth drew his weapon instinctively, the slender gentleman's rapier swinging against. Marianne switched to fencing stance, meeting his blow for blow with strange canny accuracy. Even though she was rather ill, and her head was still throbbing she made a decent account of herself that would make the future MacBeth proud.

Till two clansmen, a son and uncle of Alan, and his daughter Elaine burst out on the duo, and tore them apart. "What is the meaning of this?" asked Elaine of her.

"He... attacked me... and dragged me out here..." Marianne stammered out.

"He drew a weapon on a lass," came one of the others who rushed up, a small boy with blonding hair. Alan had called him Callom. "Attacking one under our service..."

"I told you she was not to be trusted!" came another voice, colliding into the first. He'd been called Rich.

"So Lennox, you claim to be a Jacobite, and yet you would draw a weapon upon one of the women like a Hanovarion dog," laughed the red headed one.

"She's a spy I'd say," snapped one of the other clansfolk, calling himself Bruce from inside as he grabbed Marianne roughly. 

"I am loyal to Prince Charlie himself!" MacBeth growled. 

Just then there came a shout as everyone faced the chieftain's men themselves. And stopped cold. His piper at his side, the chieftain stood not far from them, eyes flashing at the struggling group. "What is this..." came the disapproving question that silenced all parties.

"A fight in our own village," came the reply of Marianne's host, Alan. "This woman attacked this gentleman who you had said to house in our own household..."

"Is this true Mr. Lennox..." asked the Chieftain. It was then that Marianne realized just who he was! "Shugie" MacPherson, Jacobite and Stewart supporter himself, who had stood with clan MacLaren and others at Culloden Muir. Her blood chilled to realize these young men would soon lay strewn and broken on a hillside, a million musket balls through their young bodies. All that life gushing onto heather and grass in the mists and smoke…

"I beg pardon sir!" chimed into another. "This isn't the first time we have had a fight where Mr. Lennox was involved..."

"Let him go!" the chieftain ordered. "He has proven his worth to me time and again. And as for this woman... bring her here..."

Marianne was wrestled into position, angered by the whole stupid situation. She lowered her head, and spoke the typical greeting of homage. "You are not of the clan... and yet you know the respect due its leader?" he asked amused.

"I was merely defending myself... for I thought I recognized this man..."

"Who speaks for her? And how came she here?"

"She was found washed up and half-starved on the beach," Michelle said. And proceeded to tell the story. "She says she came by way of the Americas... I presumed she had a price on her head, but she swore loyalty to Bonny Prince Charlie himself..."

"Well, if she has claimed to recognize this man, Mr. Lennox, then perhaps that changes things," spoke MacBeth's accuser, the red headed fellow with a newly growing beard. He was called Rich.

"What do you mean, man?" Lennox snapped, trying to reign in his temper.

"Oh so trustworthy ally is he?" asked Rich, moving over before 'Lennox'. "I would question that... for was it not true he lost your last shipment of gold for the cause?"

"It was lost at sea!" Lennox exploded. "I swore to that! Under God himself!"

"And isn't it convenient that this woman, unidentified, washes up on yonder shore wi her head doon, sick abed?"

"I object to this!" Lennox growled. "I have sworn my loyalty to the Jacobites! Do I not help those out of Scotland that are most wanted by the law? To France, and to other places where they wait in safety? Do I not deliver your letters from the Prince himself into your hands?"

"Even so there are losses of such letters," the Chieftain admitted. "And now this lass explained. And claims to have seen you... and your quickness to attack so... on one who is stranger, and one who is a lass."

"I was not sure if he was a member of the cause," Marianne said calmly. "I had to be sure... for he had accused me of the same thing... but I was mistaken as to who he really was... for he resembled a man I had once known."

"Is this so?" the chieftain asked. "Then why the unseemly fighting in our home?"

"She acted in according to allegiance," MacBeth said, suddenly picking up on Marianne's defense of him. "I merely sought to see how far she would go to defend Bonny Prince Charlie..."

"I would say she is perhaps not to be trusted..." came Alan's call. "For what woman in her right mind would..."

"She works hard enough," put in Michelle. "I've not had a more busy pair o' hands about the hearth. 

True she knows little o' cooking, but fair near was eager to pay back for the care given her..."

"But have you seen this woman before?" asked the chieftain, a bit sick of the whole unrest their little duel had created.

"She says that I have..." Lennox muttered. 

"What does that mean?" asked the Chieftain. "If she says so, then what is she to you? How does she know you... and if the claims that she came from America are so... then be she servant, or what?"

"Aren't you in the habit of transporting indentured servants, Lennox? Selling our own countrymen into the Carolinas?" asked Rich.

"Those that I have are paying debts thus! And how dare you insinuate otherwise! As for my last trip... ill fated though it be, there be a good number of indentures upon that voyage... from which we were all lucky to survive, but some were making the return..."

"Well, we have all been addled from this last storm," said the Chieftain. "But can you swear she is not familiar..."

"Hmm, I'd be looking at her face again," Lennox murmured, pacing a half circle around Marianne Ellis. Those gray eyes looked her up and down, in that eighteenth century garb. She shivered fair near when he came close, blast it! For a moment their eyes met, as steel blue fixed into storm gray. Ever so discernibly his nose wrinkled, and she glanced at him with a small shrug.

"Well, who is she? Jacobite, Hanovarian, spy? Or what?" Rich asked. "Or your accomplice?"

"Hmm, she does look a mite bit more familiar now," Lennox muttered, finger on his lips. "Mary was her name I believe. MacLaren it was, lass?"

"Yes," she nodded. Even though she had only just told him her name. And that was only part of it, but for this time it would suffice.

"MacLaren???" the chieftain asked, dumbstruck. "What in the name of God were ye doin' indentured lass if ye indeed be by that name?"

"I told you I was loyal to Prince Charlie," she said slowly. "But I was separated from my family at a young age... and only recently was it come to me that I knew my origins. I was in America for some time, by way of England..."

"Then it be true you were in America..." he said again.

"Yes. In New York... I mean new Amsterdam," she supplied.

"You are most indeed older. But be you mother or husband?"

"Widow," she said. "My husband dead, my son missing..."

"Doubtless the loss is felt by us all. Of MacPherson," said the Chieftain, lightly taking her hand and raising her to her feet. "But if ye are indeed MacLaren... then your blood be right Scots enau. But be that your married name?"

"No, my married name be Edward," said she. "but my husband was unkind to me, taking my son from me."

This whole fiction was getting more convoluted, she thought, and looked to MacBeth for help. He coughed for a moment and added his contribution, "Tis clear to me she is in shock when she came after me. I would not consider holding it against her. If she was indeed ill. Can this whole misunderstanding be forgotten hence..."

"Be this as it may, there are many mysteries not to be told here, but by firelight. You will both come with me this evening and eat at my table..."

"But sir..." asked Rich. 

"And you keep a civil tongue in yer mouth, Rich ... for I know yer sort are quick t' judge. I will hear her story from her lips this night or the next. And myself will make decision once I ask of Colin MacLaren of the MacLarens himself. 

Rich cursed under his breath. Marianne sighed with relief, wondering where this would take her. Even as they all prepared to travel together, MacBeth seemed to have totally changed his personality. Still imbued with that strong sense of honor after three hundred years or so, he would fight for what he believed in with the same conviction with which he had hunted Demona.

* * *

Two figures, teacher and student fought and kicked in their sleep. Slowly they settled down, a silvery gray head alongside a black haired one. Marianne and MacBeth continued their enchanted slumber, despite all efforts to countermand it.

Brooklyn's eyes lowered as he perched near Marianne. Lexington stood at the foot of the pair, nervously glancing up at the figure orbiting the chamber. His silver hair fluttered like a banner over long pointed ears. "What a lovely décor," he laughed. "I didn't know he had redecorated. But I don't know about the scorched couches... my, my..."

"Never mind the look!" Broadway groaned. "Any luck?"

"Nope..." he announced, glancing at Alex. The little tyke waved his hands yet again as he babbled the spell. From his father's arms Alexander Xanatos began to cry. 

"Isn't there anything else you can do for them, Puck?" Goliath asked him. 

An exhausted Alexander Xanatos tensed his small face in concentration as he again tried the spell his own teacher gave him. Brooklyn had been the first to arrive, to check on Marianne. What he found astonished and flummoxed him. Even now that the others of the Clan had been summoned, they were still at a loss. Every attempt to rouse the two had failed. Not even Puck, freshly transformed from Owen could help. It was not a matter of violating his oath to Oberon not to use his magic. For awakening two slumbering souls from enchanted sleep was a perfect hance to tutor Alexander in the ways of magic.

"Can't we move them somewhere else?" Elisa asked Xanatos. "After all, it is kinda uncomfortable there on the floor..."

"It wouldn't be wise..." Puck cautioned, wagging his finger. He levitated in midair, pushing off from his seated Indian style position just above MacBeth's mantelpiece.

Brooklyn ignored him, moving towards the slumbering Marianne. As he reached out to shift her shoulders, Lexington stopped him, talon on his shoulders, "He said not to touch them..."

"Hey, I don't know about you but I don't think I'd be nuts about waking up in that position," he muttered. 

Broadway nodded, trying to shift MacBeth's head and shoulders off Marianne's stomach. There came a sudden shout as magic tingled the red gargoyle's hands. His white hair stood on end, a fair imitation of Tina Turner as he yelped. Broadway followed suit, howling as he drew back his hands. They stung like white-hot ice had bitten them.

"Yieeee!" Brooklyn shuddered, before the force of eldrich fire threw him clear. He rolled over, knocking into Lexington and Broadway. Goliath nimbly caught his friend, righting him as he shook his beaked head.

"Told ya so..." Puck laughed, circling above the dazed Brooklyn and Lexington.

"What... was that?" Elisa asked, moving over to the slumbering duo.

"Some sort of protection ward no doubt..." Goliath mused. "Broadway, are you hurt?"

"I'll live," he muttered. Puck shook his head.

"Puck, why would anyone put such an enchantment upon them, so as not to move them?"

"Sleep spells of this power have that kind of back kick to them," said Puck, shrugging. 

"So now what?" Elisa asked.

"We wait," Goliath said. "Or..."

"Now you're catching on," Puck said.

"Wait a minute! How do we know they'll even wake up?" Brooklyn demanded, as he finally stopped seeing everyone in double.

"Well someone went to considerable trouble to put them into this enchanted sleep. And whoever it is must not want them to wake..."

"Right first time," Puck cheered, kicking off the far wall as he streaked past Goliath. He slapped a gold star on the leader's head. Goliath grumbled low in his throat.

"But who?" asked Elisa. "And if we can find out... maybe whoever... or whatever put them to sleep could wake them?"

"Puck, can you trace the source of the enchantment..."

"What do I look like? Bronx?" he asked, putting his hands to his small chest. "I'm already running my meters as it is. And my young charge here is falling fast asleep."

Xanatos already held Alex in his arms, the boy rubbing his eyes and fussing in his frustration. He looked at his watch. "It's way past his bedtime..."

"Where the heck is Chas?" asked Broadway. "After all, he should know about this..."

"He's in Ireland," Elisa said. "And you can't get here in just a short period of time..."

"I had Owen book him tickets on Concord," Xanatos said.

"British Air?" asked Broadway.

"Nothing but the best." Xanatos shrugged. Puck continued to orbit the room, stopping only to wipe a finger on MacBeth's Van Gogh that hung over the fireplace. He shook his head, clicking his tongue as he muttered something about the décor.

"Time I got back to business," Puck said, beginning to spin.

"Oh not you don't not without an answer to this!" Brooklyn tried to stop him.

"Yes, what do we do till then... and how can we..." Goliath asked.

"Like I said.... I'm no Bronx, but all spells have their scent!" Puck called out before changing back into Owen. 

"I've got to go Goliath," David Xanatos said crisply. "It's way past Alex's bedtime. And you know how Fox gets when..."

"Of course. We will stay and protect them," Goliath said. Xanatos nodded, leaving them all there in the midst of the museum-like living room.

* * *

Marianne accepted the wine poured out to her, taking the tankard in her two hands as she absorbed every scrap of heat from the fire. Around the table the men sat, the women all set to eat after the banquet had done. Very few of the women ate with them, save Chieftain's wife, who sat at his left. She had been ushered to a chair near MacBeth, known as Malcolm Lennox in this time. The evening was spent in quiet conversation, punctuated by a few laughs. She struggled to stomach the boiled stew and roast meat alongside the odd porridge. Such food was palatable, and even nostalgic. Yet she had only recently recovered from the illness as she let loose with a cough. When would this fantasy end? When would she pinch herself and wake up. Even so she pinched a fold of skin on her arm, beneath the long sleeve of the dress she wore. It was one of those eighteen-century garbs with the bodice that pushed her bosom to a strange shape one would not achieve with modern braziers. It was difficult not to trip in the long skirt or resist the urge to scratch the itch in her ear. Her shortsightedness didn't seem very apparent or blurred here as it did in the future.

She let loose with a fit of coughing suddenly followed by another sneeze. Still she felt a bit ill. "Are ye all right, lass?" Lennox asked, concern upon the once stern face. A hand dared to move close to her shoulder.

"Sorry... hem... not completely recovered from my little dip in the north Atlantic," she coughed. A shawl was brought and wrapped around her shoulders by the lady McPherson's relations. The conversation in the room buzzed into her brain till a question snapped her head into a rigid upright position. 

"I must apologize... I am most enjoying the hospitality... yet I am not to my full health yet... I beg your pardon, Lord..."

"It grows late, and you are still ill," the chieftain said. "Forgive me for forgetting thus."

"She would do well to rest now," his wife smiled, taking his arm. Marianne felt a yawn that almost split her head open as she was helped from her chair. Full of good solid food, she was moved out of the hall.

Lennox also asked his leave, following at a discreet distance. 

* * *

Suddenly there came a crashing noise as several large clay figurines burst into the chamber. Goliath barely had time to shout to his clan as ruby beams sizzled against the air. "Watch out!" he cried to Elisa, who tumbled out of the way of a clay fist. Brooklyn and Lexington moved to shield Marianne and MacBeth. Broadway shouted as his tail lashed into a nearby clay figurine. 

"What... are these things?" Goliath growled, as he crushed an Egyptian faced clay statue inches from Elisa's head.

"I... don't know... but they look like rejects from the Hapshetsut gallery!" Brooklyn growled. He leapt as a fist swatted under him. Soon the Gargoyles slashed and ripped their way through broken figures. Still they kept coming.

A black robed figure strode in, laughing as he glanced about. "Well, if it isn't Gargoyles..."

"And they said they were just stone statues," laughed the golden serpent he clenched. Goliath growled low in his throat as a blast of fire singed his wing. Brooklyn and the Trio had dispatched most of the odd statues. Little heaps of dust lay here and there on MacBeth's plush 19th century Persian rug.

"Who are you, Sorcerer?" Goliath snarled, Elisa tumbling out of the way of another Shabti blow.

"An old friend of Dr. Ellis," he cackled.

"Hold it right there, buster!" Elisa shouted. "You're trespassing on Private property..."

"Oh, I'm soo scared. What are you doing, arresting me?"

Lexington and Brooklyn leapt in unison, towards the robed figure. Scarab raised his hands, weaving a strange mist that slammed into them hard. Broadway followed up, leaping with a roar. Scarab rent his robes in two, purple lightening snaking over his wizened body. Armor solidified in a matter of mere seconds. By then, a huge purple claw swatted Broadway aside. He slipped with his tail, struggling to trip the strange massive form. He grunted as he struggled against the massive armored figure, which simply hurled him away. He crashed into MacBeth's bookcase, the whole Encyclopedia Britannica crashing onto his head.

"Rrrrarh!" Goliath roared, leaping between the advancing sorcerer and his friends. Elisa was at his side mere second's later.

"Stand aside! Marianne Ellis is mine to deal with. If you know what is good for you... you'll not interfere!"

"Threats, sorcerer!" Goliath roared again, claws raking against the armor. Scarab actually felt the talons penetration...

Elisa's bullets sponged off his armor. Broadway and Lexington shook their heads, gasping in mutual alarm as Goliath locked claws with the odd monstrosity.

"What is that? A crab or the largest cockroach I've seen in this burg?" Brooklyn quipped.

"Who cares, let's help them!" Lexington shouted, as he leapt. Fire blazed between both gargoyles and the new attacker.

"I don't think so," came a familiar voice. Something fiery and hard crashed between Lexington's wings, and he crumpled. Brooklyn followed him soon. 

"After all I have to protect my investments..." Thailog laughed. And sat back to watch Goliath's tussles with his new ally.

* * *

"There are few that would know such moves," said a voice low and in her ear. Marianne startled awake.

"What... the bloody blazes are you doing in here..." she snapped, before a hand clamped over her mouth.

"Tis only me, lass. I wish to speak with you..."

"Don't you know what time it is... and if this is the century I think, isn't it improper for a man to steal into a woman's room in the middle of the night?"

"I apologize. But you must admit you have me at quite a disadvantage, with your claims," came Lennox's voice. She could see his silver hair dimly in the scant light of a small candle he held. The small palate they'd made up for her was in the main room with some of the other daughters. He was only in breeches and shirt now, stockinged feet. What else he wore she could not tell. Save that he held his shoes in the hand opposite the candle. How he'd crept in here into the daughter's bedroom she could not even care to think.

There came a murmuring and a muttering. "If you wish to discuss this... I don't think this is the best place..."

"I quite agree. Perhaps outside..."

"Aren't I still ill?" she asked, in a whisper. "They might think it most unwise to move me, and the last time they lanced my arm they took rather a lot of blood..."

She still felt dizzy when she remembered the procedure, and felt most lightheaded. It was a miracle she was this together. "I am most sorry, but if you are from where ye say... blast it..." he continued. "There was little time. And even less to waste..."

"All right, you win..." she breathed. Some of the figures huddled in the huge bed began to mumble and groan at the whispers.

"If ye'll permit me to help ye up... there is a place we can go t' talk..."

Slowly his hand clamped around hers, and she stumbled. "Whoops..." she said out loud before he gripped her waist firmly. A bit closer to him then she expected. "The stupid blood letting..."

"Whist, I'll carry yet then," he muttered, shoving the candle into her hands. One hand under her knees he bent to lift her. Surpassingly he succeeded! She suppressed a shiver as he carefully tiptoed with her among the sleeping clanswomen. Within the wandering laberynth they dissapeared with only the light of the flickering candle to guide them.

* * *

"RAAAAAGH!" 

"Silence you brute!" Scarab snarled. Unfortunately the massive talons squeezed more and more tightly upon his own claws. Scarab gritted his teeth at the massive strength of this monstrosity. The others had fallen quite easily, so this was quite a surprise. Goliath levered up, tossing the Scarab onto it's back. As he leapt, a blast of fire surged around him.

"Goliath!" Elisa cried out.

"Protect... the others..." he cried, batting the flames back with his wings. With another mighty roar he pounced on the stumbling wizard. However Scarab was not yet finished. Purple energy shot through his armor, sizzling into lavender skin. Goliath inwardly groaned as he wondered why every enemy seemed to have the same idea about frying their opponents.

"I will stop you!" he continued to grunt, resisting the snapping tingle that surged over him. From behind him crashed a stunning jolt, and he collapsed atop the sorcerer.

"You took your time," Scarab gritted, struggling under the massive Gargoyle. Thailog chuckled evilly, moving upon Elisa.

"Stop right where you are!" she shouted, gun leveled on him. He snickered, raising his weapon menacingly.

"I could use a bit of help here..." Scarab gritted.

"Just let me take care of some loose ends," Thailog laughed. Elisa pulled the trigger. Thailog's rifle muzzle moved closer to her head.

There was a shot, and a sudden crackle. Elisa soon joined the slumbering duo on the Persian carpet. Her dark hair lay askew of her golden skin, her lips only slightly parted. Thailog took a few minutes to gloat over his work, his tail prodding the fallen couple. "Ah Goliath, this is indeed sweet revenge. For even now your friends are caught in a place they cannot hope to escape from. And should they be led into temptation, I seriously doubt your tenuous alliance will last for long with your ill fated King…"

* * *

"Now what's this about time travel then?" he asked her. Somehow he'd found his way back to the chambers he occupied when guest of the Laird. Unlike she, he had his own private place, a small fire playing in the grate of the little room. It was an upper chamber of the laird's dwelling. He'd carried her here up a flight of stairs, along two or three passages. To set her upon a comfortable lounge by the hearth. He himself took seat opposite. 

In the gloom of the chilly air she shivered, and he wrapped another blanket around her. "Quite a friend you've made yourself," she shivered, teeth chattering. No, this air would definitely not do for her cold. Perhaps they weren't so far off thinking night air was bad for one's health.

"And I'd be asking how you know me..."

"Why the sudden change of heart... as I recall you were ready to skewer me..."

"The way ye fought, I could swear no one else would know. No fencing, but a medieval form. No one, least of all a lass, would fight in that manner..."

"Even though I may be a Scot verra well?" she joked.

"Hmm," muttered MacBeth. "But ye forget I know much of weaponry and swordplay. And that was nothing you would have learned from them. No. None save myself could have taught you that technique..."

"So you admit I might be telling the truth when I say I'm not from this time?" she asked.

"Indeed I do. And your manner of speech would suggest it as well. But the fact remains you have not said why you are here... and if you are from another time, would you not be making a mess of things coming back?"

"I have no idea how I got here, and no more power returning home then going to the moon," she muttered crossly. 

"And I am supposing that could happen in your time..."

"If you like yes," she muttered, fending off an impending sneeze. "Actually, it does. We do put men on the moon... in the twentieth century. But you cannot know what I am risking telling you this..."

At these words she shivered, drawing her knees into her chest. It was so cold. Noticing this, Malcolm Lennox moved over to the fire. A few more logs joined the rest of the glowing warmth, flames licking up the newfound fuel. He turned to her again, the gold firelight painting his silver hair to a rich gold. "Is that better then?"

"Thank you," she shivered. "And we also invent electric heating... to boot..."

Malcolm dropped to his haunches beside her, pulling the blanket that slipped from around her shoulders into place again. "That would be an invention to speak of..."

"Would it? Dare I say any more?" she wondered, shivering. Slowly she sipped the tea he pressed into her hand. One quick sip and the tang of alcohol shot into her tongue.

"What... is in this?" she coughed.

"A wee dram o' Scotch," he laughed, patting her back as she fanned her throat. "Puts the hair upon one's chest..."

"As if I needed it..."

"A lass needs that not," he replied, with a slight chuckle. 

"What I really need.... Is a way of getting out of this place," she sighed again. Dark hair spilled down over her shoulders, free of the confining cap she'd had to wear.

"Aye, but I fear I cannae help ye there... lass. 'Twas my guess it was magic that brought ye hence... and only magic can take ye back. And as fer time I know little about such things. Although..."

"The Phoenix gate," she snapped her fingers. 

"I beg yer pardon?" he asked.

"It still exists! Lennox... I mean Malcolm, there is a way for me to return! With magic..."

"Is there? And wuild it be involving this Phoenix gate... then? Tis it a magical item?"

"Yes! Well, you don't know about it yet... but it enables the bearer to travel through time... but there's only one problem... I don't know where to find it..."

"I am sorry lass. Ye may well be stuck her for a time... till we could find this Phoenix gate... and send ye home..."

"I know that," she snapped, shivering all over again. "Stupid wretched time travel! Why does it have to pick on me?"

"What?"

"The last time I traveled back to Ancient Egypt and all hell broke loose..."

"Wait, ye mean t' say you've done this before?"

"It was with the help of Egyptian gods... oh it's too long of a story, and my head fair near kills me..."

That sober look crept onto her face, and Marianne hugged herself all the more. Tears slipped down her cheeks, glistening in the firelight. Malcolm Lennox leaned closer, hands upon the rail of the chair as she began to sob. The realization that she was again trapped had set in, flooding out her anticipated plans with its rude reality. 

"It just isn't fair..." she cried. "I cannot remember the bits and pieces... and yet I know damn well I don't belong here..."

"Tis the same fer me, for I am immortal," he said slowly, taking her hand in his. "Except I cannae go back..."

"Fate itself conspires against me," she wept. "And I don't know if I can take it again. What if what I am doing now forever alters my life again?"

"Lass ye are here now. And that is all that is. Till then weeping won't do ye guid..." he said firmly.

"As if you didn't know how I feel! Cut off from my family, friends, and the one I love! I'm all alone now... all alone in this damned century... just like in Egypt..."

"Yer not alone..." he said, stroking her hand.

"I've heard that before," she grumbled bitterly, and buried her face in her other hand. For a time Malcolm let her cry, her gentle sobs reminding her of those of one he heard centuries ago.

"I'm so tired," she cried, lifting her tearstained face. Malcolm drew her to himself, hushing her as she wet his shirt with fresh tears. "So tired... of the travel..."

"As am I... of living itself," said he, softly into her ear. "Your pain is an old song, that I sing myself..."

"I'll never see him again," she sighed. "I wouldn't begin to know where to look..."

"Are ye... married in your time..."

"Yes... no... not really. I was once. But now there is someone... but this may sound strange but I cannot remember him! It's the same as before..."

"Ah," said he, still holding her close. The warmth of his body moved into hers.

"What is the same as before?"

"Every time I travel in time, my memories begin to fade the more time I spend. It usually passes when I am returned to my own time... and I recall all. But I cannot remember my family.... Lennox it's all going..."

"Hush now... I am real enau..." he said, gripping her hands. She convulsed as she felt her memories again turning away to that gray mist. And she was powerless to stop them.

"And I had t' wake ye," he sighed. "Twoud have been best t' let ye sleep..."

"so tired," she sobbed against him. Slowly he lifted her in his arms, and carried her to the bed. Carefully he lay her shaking form upon its surface.

"What..." she whispered.

"Sleep," he said softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "That is all one can do... when one is so tired of the centuries. Only I wake up... from its depths..."

"To sleep, perchance to dream," she muttered.

"You read Shakespeare," he muttered appreciatively.

"Yes. In my time he's still quite the playwright. His works live on, even if the English is a bit tortuous for the actors..."

"Marianne MacLaren," he muttered, wiping away the tears as he stroked her forehead. But his hand did not release hers, nor did he leave her side. Instead, he continued to lean over her, silvery hair radiant with firelight. 

"I must sleep... but I cannot..." she sighed, blinking again. "What if I don't remember..."

"Then perhaps there shuild be something fer ye to remember..." he whispered, gently laying a kiss to her cheek.

"A goodnight kiss perchance..." she mumbled, the alcohol coursing in her veins.

He was warm and alive, pressing close to her as he gently kissed her next tear away. Marianne tried to think of all the reasons why this was wrong. That they shouldn't continue. But if she was not remembering, what was so important that she just forgot? A man in the future who loved her? She could not bring the face to her mind as her memories of a distant time receded. Perhaps this had been her life, for as each caress on her skin and gentle soft kiss upon her lips felt so real.

"Wait... I am ill... I could make you so too..."

"Does not matter to one who is immortal," he laughed, laying beside her as he wrapped his arms around her shivering body. "And there are few ways to be warm... without your electric heating..."

"But it still remains... that I may well be married in a future time..."

"I was once myself. But is that now or then... and if ye can remember, I'd be asking you how we had known another..."

"All I can recall... is that you were there, teaching me to swordfight...."

"Indeed?" he asked. His breathing fell into rhythm with hers, as Marianne soaked up his warmth into her. 

His gentle lip caress blossomed into something far more, and it was all she could do to hold him back.

"This... might not be a good idea for another reason..." said she. "But I seem to have forgotten why..."

"I know..." said he in return, as she found her fingers working into his silver hair. The warmth of his breath moved into her mouth as it met his. Whiskers tickled against her cheeks as she was pressed under his solid weight. So warm, so warm and soft and alive. A heartbeat that faded into the darkness of the night till she could no longer feel the cold from without. Only the warmth and the rushing of blood from within.

* * *

By now Goliath lay next to his love, slowly blinking. In his double vision he saw the odd beetle shape and the unmistakable ebon silhouette of Thailog. He hardly had the strength to move, let alone speak. All he could manage was to open his eyes and stare in ultimate frustration. The last few words of the soliloquy burned in his ears, "Should they succomb to temptation…"

Scarab levitated the sleeping duo within a purple aura. Slowly they drifted out the widow as he himself sprouted wings from beneath that carapace. Desperately Goliath struggled to get the message from his mind to his numb limbs. He had to do something... and oh no... there was Elisa! Right next to him and not moving a muscle!

"E... lee... Sa..." he mouthed. Before his nose landed a black clawed foot. 

"Well, hello, Father..." Thailog cackled. "Not so easy is it watching me win?"

"H... how..." Goliath croaked. How he desperately wanted to move, to even swing his tail to topple the smug giant from his high position.

"What, and spoil the suspense? No, I don't think so. This isn't some cheep story where I suddenly reveal my master plot to you..."

"Wouldn't... it give... you sastis... faction," Goliath slowly rumbled.

"No, I have all I need. Just watching you lay there, helpless. Powerless to stop me. That is satisfaction enough. Far better to see you suffering, unable to protect these weak and helpless humans..."

"Thailog!" Goliath growled. Yet it was only a small moan from a stone throat.

"Farewell. And don't wait up for me," Thailog's laugh echoed. "And don't forget to tell your fey friend all about this little situation… I am most certain he will be thrilled to learn of his love's recent activities…"

"Rrrrrrgh!" was all he could muster before the black claws thumped out of his view. Then came the sharp click as the lights went out, and all was silence.

* * *

Marianne stirred, shaking off sleep. Her eyes opened, as she stretched tired limbs. Why did she feel so heavy? It was a question she hardly dared answer. Another surface as she began to shift her aching shoulders. Still it was incredibly blurry. Yet she couldn't' remember it being so the night she fell asleep.

Why didn't it hurt? Or at least feel some discomfort. Granted, she wasn't inexperienced. Yet she would have felt some evidence of the previous activities. All she felt was an odd weight on her chest, a cloud of silvery hair just beneath her chin. She froze, realizing whose hair it was. And why she couldn't move to rise.

"Lennox," she whispered. A warm breathing body rose and fell against hers. Such warmth moved into her, the solid weight pinning her legs and body beneath it.

"Mm, what," he murmured, Scottish brogue rolling off even in his moans. 

Trembling fingers lifted, for she struggled to raise her hand. All she could manage was to raise it in one sudden burst and let it fall upon the strange texture of sheets. Wait, when were bedsheets so oddly slick, like a mackintosh... or a wool sweater. No mind. The hand continued up, working its way into soft silvery hair at the back of a warm neck.

"Lennox," she repeated, his name choking in her throat. Her fingers worked down his neck, slowly rubbing it. 

"Marianne..." he replied, blinking in the strange light. Why could he not move a muscle? What strange sorcery had worked itself on him while they slept? For it wasn't this difficult in all of the one thousand years of his life, to move! Even if he'd had a few dozen Guinness the night before! That pounding behind his temples slowly eased away. Still the haze of sleep clung to his awareness, blurring his eyes. It was dim and dark wherever they were. And the sensation of her laying there, softly breathing into his hair shivered the immortal King to his bones.

Then started. It took all his willpower to even shift an inch. Inside his mind a thousand memories crashed. Immediate ones with the dream ones. "Curse it, I canne move... haven't the strength of a wee bairn..."

"I can't move... either..."

"Should nae be.. . this difficult," he grunted, slowly pushing against a resilient surface as he pushed himself up off her. Shyness crept over him. He did not realize just how much such activity had taken out of him!

Even so, his willpower overcame the stiffness. Slowly he moved over her, his face inches from hers. That same sense of awkwardness radiated from her. 

"It... never was... before," she slowly replied, feeling the oddness in her. Why was this strange. And yet...

"I shouldn't have..." she choked, feeling the tears form. "Chas..."

"Hush now," MacBeth urged her, gently stroking her hair aside with one finger. "What's done is done... and why so sad..."

"I... should not have been with you," she gasped. 

"Is... there another in the future... ye love..." he asked.

"Yes," she closed her eyes, and felt the tears flow through her dark lashes. MacBeth drew in a huge sigh, slowly wiping them away with his finger. It was then that he noticed he was wearing gloves. And a black sleeve swathed what should have been a bare arm. His hand slipped down her face, to caress her shoulder. Wool met his fingers, in the fine texture of a knit sweater. Such odd garments, he didn't recall where they had come from! They lay together, fully clothed in the strange garb! There was no bed, no castle walls, but an odd Egyptian paneled room with a mattress beneath them both.

He glimpsed down at his own self, running a finger along the texture of the long black coat covering his arms and back. The finger traced to his chest, running over smooth hardness. Marianne's own hand slipped over it as well. "Strange... armor..." he muttered, then felt the shape of a gun holster at his hip. What proper gentleman is armored without a sword and a pistol?

Another set of memories rushed over his recollection. MacBeth shook his head.

"Demona..." he mouthed, as he blinked again. "Demona... Thailog... attacking... what..."

"It was a dream!" Marianne suddenly gasped. "Sleep potion... sleep spell!"

They grasped each other's arms in mutual astonishment and relief. "It... was just a dream!" Marianne laughed, her chest heaving up and down beneath his. His own baritone laugh convulsed her own body, pinned between him and the resilient mat. 

"What in God's name?" MacBeth suddenly chuckled. "Was this all about?"

"Lennox... you weigh a ton in that damned armor!" she laughed back. 

"Terribly sorry lass," he suddenly realized, blushing profusely as he rolled onto his side, and into a sitting position beside her. Still he continued to laugh hysterically, hand to his head as Marianne did the same. 

"Then all of that... the Hielanders... the castle... the bedroom... was all an illusion..." Marianne sighed deeply, sitting up next to him. Both safely fully clothed, and utterly confused. "But where the hell are we now?" 

"My sentiments exactly," he muttered. His eyes narrowed as they took in the surroundings. Strange Art deco styled carvings and lines. No discernible sounds save the crackle of a static electricity field. He could smell the ionization of the air just ahead.

"If it was Demona... why aren't we dead?" Marianne asked. Then corrected herself as she added, "Why aren't I dead?"

"I dinnae ken, lass," MacBeth muttered, eyes flickering over every inch of their surroundings. Marianne reached upon her arm, fingering the strange pieces of jewelry present. As if to remind herself she really and truly was awake.

"Lennox... MacBeth..." she murmured, gripping his shoulder. "What happened..."

"I know..." he murmured, taking her hand in his and giving it a sympathetic pressure. 

"But was it the same as yours... the hieland rebellion... and a banquet..."

"The Laird, Shugie MacPherson..."

"Did you really help the nobles escape from Scotland during the Jacobite rebellion?"

"What do ye think, Lass?" he sniffed. "After all I am a king of Scotland, am I not?"

"yes.... Pardon me for being dim, but it was a simple question..."

"I'm sorry t' loose temper like that. I dinna like someone the likes of Demona invading my private memories... which is what that spell precisely did..."

"You mean all we experienced was from your memories?"

"Aye. For you see, within my memories, ye saw through the eyes of someone in my memories... everything that happened was from my own recollections..."

"Even the... what we did?"

He flushed, and hung his head. She did not release his hand, gloved though it was. "And I was experiencing those memories with you... in some odd spell."

"Aye... y'see... ever since I'd first met you, ye reminded me of a lass I'd known long ago. Wi' the same spirit, the same beauty."

"So that's why upon first meeting me you said, 'It canne be you...' isn't it?"

He chuckled sadly at her imitation of his accent, realizing it was spot on. Then she ran a hand through her hair awkwardly as she went on to say, "so... let me get this straight... you say I reminded you of this woman you knew a while ago... would it have anything to do with what we just..."

"Ye bear her name, Marianne," he said. "Faith I thought it a strange coincidence... but somehow she must have been yer ancestor..."

"My mother's maiden name was MacLaren, and her father's family had left to France, then America..." Marianne recounted. "And then there was that bit about... this woman having grown up in America as an indentured servant... oh... my god..."

MacBeth's gray eyes flashed as she put the pieces together. "She... was Mary. Mary MacLaren, a great-great-great grandmother, whose son was taken from her, by her husband back to Scotland. But she refused to go..."

"Because she thought life was better in America... and yet she wished t' find her son in Scotland, fer she said he'd be with the other MacLarens..."

"And the only way she could get back to Scotland was to pose as a servant on a ship going back by way of France..."

"But the ship was wrecked in storm," MacBeth explained. "And its captain managed to save most on board save a few who were picked up by a hieland clan... and he himself went in search of them..."

"When were you on a ship?" Marianne asked.

"A ship's captain... till then. And a Jacobite t' the heart..."

"Did you and she..."

"Aye. 'Twas only one night... before she was taken to MacLaren... and taken into the Clan. Her son was alive and well, her husband slain in a raid on a Redcoat camp..."

"And she took her son to France... and he... oh Lennox you did know my family... it's all so creepy..."

"Then there remains one question then," MacBeth said softly, looking towards the floor.

"What will happen next... then it is..." she said. A simple nod was all that came from the black coated figure. His eyes squeezed firmly shut as if he'd suffered a tremendous loss. She couldn't sort the strange tangle of feelings within her own mind either. All they could do at that point was knee there in shared shock, Mary's hand on his shoulder, gripping tightly.

"Lennox, we must get out of here. Whoever has us I am sure they won't take much longer to do whatever it is... they see fit to have captured us for..."

"And what of yer own feelings?" he glanced up at her. The expression in those gray eyes spoke of great loss and sadness.

"That... we must sort out later..." she sighed, shaking her head. "I don't suppose we can pretend it never happened..."

"Nay," he shook his head. "For it was all too real..."

"But are you attracted to me?"

"Ye are not her, but I canna help but feel what I do when I am wi' ye. This circumstance simply made us both aware... of our feelings. And let her soul and mine share an unfinished chance to say goodbye..."

"MacBeth, I'm in a relationship..." she cried. "You should know better..."

"Dammit Marianne, I may be immortal but I'm still human! I have weaknesses like any other man! And as I recall you were just as much part of it as I..."

* * *

Xanatos had only just reached the airport when the Concord landed. Pushing past the milling throngs debarking, the familiar figure in leather jacket and bluejeans practically raced to the gate. Over his arm he carried the camera case, and his own bags. Just how he'd managed to reason his way off the photoshoot was a well placed excuse and the intercession of his twin sister Michelle. Besides, Xanatos had reasoned, once the matter was resolved, he'd have Fox fly the photographer back in their private leer jet in a matter of hours.

"Tell me everything," Chas gritted, as Owen and Xanatos fought to keep up with his long legged gait.

"The spell resist all attempts to reverse it..." Owen said.

"I don't understand, if it's a spell Demona used, then why Puck cannot..."

"It is not the spell of a Child of Oberon, 'tis why," Chas said.

"But Puck said it was a fey spell..." Xanatos said.

"Whatever made ye think there was only one race of the Fair Folk?" Chas asked Xanatos, with a look of astonishment on his face.

"Y' should have told me from the start o' it!" he grumbled. "I'd hate t' think of Mary in that blasted predicament..."

"MacBeth is affected as well..."

"What?" Chas shouted, stopping cold in his tracks.

"Both Miss Ellis and Mr. MacBeth are affected," Owen clarified, as they reached the limo. He slipped Chas' bags out of the stunned Irishman's hands, neatly slipping them into the trunk.

"Come on, let's get there," Xanatos said, taking Chas arm and helping pull him into the passenger's seat.

"Then we'll figure out the facts..."

* * *

"Well, well, time to get down to business," grated a voice that was unfamiliar to MacBeth. Unfortunately it was all too familiar to Marianne Ellis.

"Scarab!" she exploded. MacBeth gripped her shoulders to restrain her, lest she rush right into the electronic barrier.

"It has been a long time, Dr. Ellis," he laughed. "Honestly, when I had heard where you have spent the last six months, I cannot believe that you were so close and yet so far..."

"What do you want with him?" she asked. "He's no argument with you... let him go!"

"Marianne..." MacBeth said, but shut up the instant that Scarab's eyes fell upon him. Protectively he gripped her shoulders, and rose to his feet. Regally he stepped right up to the edge of the cell, and fixed his gray eyes into those of the sorcerer.

"Ah, that regal bearing... unmistakable..."

"Spare me the flattery, necromancer..." MacBeth snapped. "And tell me what argument ye have wi' a defenseless lass... and wi me?"

"Oh you have no idea, do you?"

"Thailog failed to give me the great plot exposition," MacBeth folded his arms, an eyebrow arched. Clearly it took much to even phase the immortal king. Marianne was stunned. Not even a hair out of place, MacBeth proceeded to cast one of his most frozen stares. The effect was not lost on Scarab, who was not used to dealing with a captive that wasn't cowering in fear, or speaking defiant lines from heroes 101..."

His outlook gave her courage, and she too got to her feet. "I would also like to know just what you're going to do to him... and to myself..."

"Oh very well... I know you are MacBeth... king of legend... and that is precisely why you are in my clutches now..."

"He desires immortality," Marianne said.

MacBeth looked shocked for a moment. Then the next moment he did something totally unexpected, he laughed in Scarab's face. A hearty, deep resonant laugh that thoroughly destroyed Scarab' evil leer. "What... you dare to laugh at me?" Scarab stammered, eyes wide with anger and shock.

"Hah... I canna believe it!" MacBeth laughed, bending over double. "This is truly rich... Marianne can ye seriously believe this man wants to be immortal?"

"He does. And has spent he better part of two years tormenting a young boy who hosts a Pharaoh's ancient spirit..." she shook her head.

"What a bloody idjit ye are!" MacBeth guffawed, in tears from his mirth. "I am immortal yes... but do ye think for one moment that I wanted it?"

"But you must have..."

"Nay!" he laughed again. "Tis not a blessing, but a sheer curse. But if it's ma immortality ye desire, then ye cn have it!"

"Lennox no!" Marianne cried.

"Oh, such a willing victim!" Scarab laughed. "Very well, I will take it..."

"And choke on it," MacBeth laughed. "But ye must promise me one thing. Let the lass go..."

"He won't agree..."

"Perhaps... but if he wants it bad enough... he can take it!" MacBeth said, with a wink at her. Slowly she nodded, knowing she must trust him.

"Ah, then it shall begin. Release him. And leave the woman here…"

"You promised t' let her go..."

"Not till I have immortality. Not a moment before!"

"Lennox..." Marianne said. Gently MacBeth seized her arms, looking deep into her eyes. He gently pressed his lips to her forehead, embracing her.

"Be brave, lass. Remember the blood o' kings flows in yuir veins," he said, and pressed a brief kiss to her lips. "Be strong... as yer ancestor... and tell the man ye love I bear him no ill will..."

"Now... no more delays..." Scarab hissed. MacBeth proudly drew himself up to his full height, and strode majestically out of the cell. That regal bearing was almost legendary. Like a lamb to the slaughter, Marianne wondered.

"Chas, forgive me," she felt the tears in her eyes. How would she explain this? Yet she dared not lie. For she may well lose him forever. Desperately she reached into her mind, blocking everything away into its separate compartments. Her thoughts and being stretched across the distance, hoping that he would perhaps find her....

* * *

Goliath slowly struggled again to move, for the seemingly hundredth time. The sensations were beginning to return to his arms and toes. It took a supreme effort to roll over on his side so he was facing Elisa's prostrate form. A low growl came from the back of the room from Broadway. Lexington and Brooklyn groped their aching heads.

"Oh what was the truck that hit me?" Broadway moaned.

"A truck named Thailog," Goliath rumbled. "Is everyone all right?"

"We'll live. I'm in too much pain to be dead," Lexington grumbled. Brooklyn helped him, then Broadway in turn to sit up.

Goliath tipped Elisa's head to face him. His massive talons moved over her body in practiced feather soft touches. Nothing broken it seemed. "Elisa... please... wake up..." he whispered, leaning over her.

Her long lashed lids fluttered, opening to dark eyes. They glazedly looked up at his concerned scowl. "Goliath... MacBeth and Marianne... Thailog..."

"They are gone," Goliath said, gently lifting her head in his talons. "Can you move..."

"Barely. Whatever he hit us with he nailed us good," she moaned.

It was then that Xanatos burst in, a familiar slender figure at his heels. "What happened?" he asked.

"That's what we're trying to figure out!" Brooklyn snapped.

"Chas, can you help Elisa... she's still stunned..."

"I'll try... but where is Marianne?" he demanded. The healer dropped to one knee, running his hands over Elisa. A gentle humming escaped his lips, followed by a sapphire blue light. She slowly moved her arms and legs with greater ease.

He then moved to the gargoyle trio, singing a small song as Elisa searched the room for evidence. Goliath proceeded to tell what had happened. "And Thailog said something about being well paid to take Marianne to an old friend..."

Chas sniffed the air. "Gargoyle, but not gargoyle. And the scent of heka..."

"What's heka?" asked Lexington.

"Egyptian magic," Xanatos explained. 

"Heka, and the smell of Avalon," said Chas. "If it's heka... I know well who it must be..."

"That would explain those clay statues we were fighting..."

"Clay statues?" Chas snapped, and Elisa showed him the piles on the carpet. 

"Scarab," Chas gritted, letting the sand fall from his hands. "That means..."

* * *

MacBeth glimpsed the morose Egyptian surroundings of the darkened chamber. "Verra nice," he raised an eyebrow with this sarcastic remark. "Who does yuir design? Set himself?"

"You are not as old as I," Scarab laughed. MacBeth noted the large clay jar he sprinkled handfuls of herbs and other odd items into. Just what this man was trying to accomplish he had no inkling of it's terrible price. 

"That may well be, but are ye quite sure ye know what forces you are dealing with. Did yer comrade Thailog no tell you the nature of my immortality..."

"Enough that I may extract it with some modifications to my usual spell," Scarab laughed. "Ah... now we are ready to begin. Hecka... the scroll..."

She undulated forwards, a parchment papyrus in her mouth. "Now let it begin. You must read the incantation, for it to take effect... for it can only be read by a monarch... to willingly surrender his soul."

"I thought you could take it as you pleased," came the voice of Thailog, from a dark corner.

"That was for the Egyptian version," Scarab tossed his hand aside. "Now, read this well..."

"I... MacBeth, son of Findleach, and ruler of the realm of Scotland, its principalities, sworn upon the stone of Scone... to protect it and all its citizens do hereby bequeath my immortality... to he who is of thirty five centuries... that he..." MacBeth read, then shook his head.

"Why do you not finish..."

"It's all wrong man! Ye canne seriously expect to reverse my spell with this bastardization! Rather... may I suggest..."

"You are no magician..."

"I have practiced magic. And this is only a Heka spell that can hardly hope..."

"Finish it!" Scarab shouted.

"Verra well..." MacBeth said. "That he... may live forever, untouched by the winds of Set, in countless risings of Ra himself..."

"Excellent!" Scarab cried. MacBeth suddenly dropped to his knees, feeling as if something were draining out of him. Suddenly there came silver eldrich power from his chest, soaring towards Scarab...

* * *

Broadway and Brooklyn gripped Chas between then, the empathic photographer reaching out with his senses for an elusive wisp of Marianne's mind. To Goliath it seemed natural as Bronx following a scent. The leader wove back and forth with Elisa cradled in his arms.

"So let me get this straight," Elisa called out to Chas. "She's not in San Francisco..."

"No, somewhere very close by," Chas said. "I can sense... Egyptian carvings... and a yes... a reconstructed temple..."

"The Metropolitan Museum of Art!" Broadway suddenly snapped his fingers. His other arm grasped Chas' shoulder. 

"If that be the place... and we'd best hurry! That man Scarab's planning t' steal MacBeth's immortality?"

Goliath swept under them, then brought himself alongside the gliding trio. From far behind they saw the blazing of Xanatos' battle armor suit. Still that contraption unnerved them all. Elisa shivered against Goliath's warm chest in the night air. Already it was close to three in the morning. Would they find them in time?

"But if this man wishes immortality... then what if Xanatos..." Goliath suddenly whispered to Elisa.

"Tis why I said little else," Chas spoke.

"How can you tell all that?" Elisa asked Chas.

"All of what?"

"Where he is?"

"I share... a special bond... with Marianne. She has sent me her thoughts of where she is... and we'd best hurry there... before Scarab finishes his spell..."

"Who is this Scarab anyway?" asked Brooklyn.

"An ancient sorcerer, with the ability to drain the life force from others..." Chas explained. "And he thinks that by taking MacBeth's soul he might life forever... but little does he know... that the spell will have a very different effect then he desires..."

"How so?"

"He originally wished to have the soul of a young pharaoh's spirit, reborn in a twelve year old boy. Yet he figures that since MacBeth is royalty, and is immortal, he can extract the essence of the magic that binds him to immortality."

"Wait... if he messes with that then Demona..."

"That could be a problem for her," Brooklyn said. "And she deserves what she gets..."

"Even so, she would not jeopardize her own life for him, would she?" asked Lexington. "That's not her style..."

"No, there must be a twist to Demona's plan that she has not revealed to this sorcerer," Goliath muttered.

"Believe me, I think you will agree it is most devious... if it is what I think..." Chas said.

"Why had Thalog used such an elaborate spell to twine them in sleep when he could have simply stunned them?" Lexington asked, scratching his chin. 

"That is an uncomfortable question that must wait," Goliath said. "Knowing Demona, she has plans within her plans…."

* * *

"I've got to get out of here..." she gritted. In her mind she knew Chas was well on his way. Yet she resolved she could not let Scarab have the immortality he desired. Besides, from what Goliath had told her of Thailog, he might well jeopardize Scarab's plan for his own benefit.

Also she could not allow her teacher to come to harm. Not after what he had shared. It wasn't right. Nevertheless what would Chas say and do when he found out what had... no she mustn't think of that now! Even without that armor she was not entirely without resources. If only she could clear her mind and think. Static electricity bars. And what was the best way to deal with such a security system? She pulled a scrap of paper from her pocket, concentrating as she held it in her palm. Slowly it blurred into a slice of diamond, its edge razor sharp. She began to cut at the floor sensors, near the edge of the beam. To the wiring beneath. Then again she concentrated, transmuting the wires themselves to nonconductive carbon. 

The bars shorted out, triggering an alarm. Instantly she got to her feet, and raced into the darkness. Bright red eyes of Shabti flared on. She remembered them all too well. Transmuting her fist to hard lead she slammed a punch into the first, and ducked the next's fire. A single touch and the Shabti began to dissipate into the atmosphere.

Suddenly came a hit from behind, as she felt herself crumple groundwards. "Dammit!" she cursed, feeling floor bash her cheek. There came the ragged scrape of Shabti footsteps from behind. Weakly she raised her hand, placing it to the floor as she thought of mercury. As she had hoped, the slippery metal caused the creating to loose its footing. Agonizingly slowly she pulled herself forwards on her hands.

* * *

Lexington shorted out the metal wiring on the skylight. Deftly Goliath ripped the panel off, laying it to one side. Brooklyn, Broadway leapt with Chas towards the darkness below, followed by Goliath with Elisa. Neither of them saw Xanatos at that moment following.

Chas was off like a shot as his feet touched the floor. Eyes blazed white in the darkness after him, the eldrich glow of his magical twin blades lead the way. "Come on, there's not a moment to loose..."

* * *

MacBeth felt the all consuming pain shoot over his body, like white hot fire. This was exactly how he'd felt all those centuries ago when his life had forever changed, linked to that of the she-goyl prostrate in Thailog's arms. What could Demona possibly want, save to end this cycle of destruction.

"Bring Demona forth," Scarab instructed. Thailog slowly began to move forwards, with his mate in his arms. The nimbus of silvery energy expanded, till it wrapped her in its form. Both immortal King and immortal she-goyl levitated on the midst of the storm.

"Let the bond be severed, by Anubis! That I may deny these bonds of his death, and be forever in the eyes of Ra... for a thousand upon a thousand risings of the Aton!" Scarab chanted. Thailog backed away, into the darkness, a slow smile growing upon his lips. Demona felt the strange aging suddenly setting in as she and MacBeth cried out.

"No!" Demona roared, her eyes flashing crimson. Her loud pitched cry split the darkness. 

"Let there be an end!" MacBeth shouted at the top of his lungs.

"Nay!" came a chord of three voices from afar. Scarab gasped as silver fire wreathed from the roof itself. It made no hole, but permeated the space between atoms. 

"Curses of Set, what is this interruption!" he thundered.

"You puny mortal who would seek to undo what we have done... be ware of the consequences!" came three shrieking voices that pierced the night. Three shapes materialized out of the darkness, into silver gowned forms that floated in its radiance. Scarab felt the feedback as eldrich fire choked around his own nimbus. Demona and MacBeth suddenly gazed in wonder and horror at the tug of war.

"Who are you to interfere..."

"We are they who created this bond, and you tamper with it at your peril!" 

Scarab turned a whiter shade of his pale skin, his wizened knees knocking together in the presence of a force far greater then his own. Thailog heard the sounds of battle. Slowly he went to investigate, slipping away from the melee of Scarab. His gun tucked into his hand as he retreated.

* * *

Marianne felt the clay hands clamp upon her, lifting her out of the shadows. Her feet flailed, her hand reaching down to transmute the hands that held her. A second later and the hand crumbled to liquid gallium, flowing easily off her wrist. Two other figures came out of the shadows, grabbing her upraised hands. Another blow hit her from the side. She staggered, unable to concentrate, to use her power.

Then came a loud roar, as the Shabti before her fell into pieces. White eyes pierced the dark, the shapes of Shabti being raised and tossed by powerful beings.

All she could do was hug her stomach as the pain erupted from a stray kick. She saw the shapes of Brooklyn and Lexington covering her, their tails and talons flying. Then there was silence, and the gentle hands and fussing voices of the Trio, and Goliath. "Thank God you're here... Lennox... MacBeth..."

"Brooklyn, stay with her... Chas..."

"Marianne!" came a familiar voice, tinged with Irish Brogue. 

"Chas!" she cried, extending her arms. Brooklyn parted to let Chas grip her up into his strong arms.

"Easy Musha, I'm here now... it's all right..."

"No it isn't... scarab..."

"Goliath's on it already," Lexington said.

"I'd best get there," Chas said, as he carried Marianne in his arms. She was too stunned to protest. As his face bent close to kiss her, he withdrew for a second. There was a questioning look on his face. She shivered, and his her face in her hands.

There came the sounds of laser fire, as a sound equal to Goliath's resounded. She could glimpse an armored shape, which Goliath was ready to swipe aside. All the rest faded into confusion.

* * *

"The Weird sisters," MacBeth laughed. "Tis been a while, lasses..."

"Who is this man... and what is his desire to interfere..."

"I wish immortality! Is that too much to ask?" Scarab shouted at them.

"Be very careful what you ask for!" said one. "Even now it is not too late..."

"Give me their immortality!" he cried. 

"Have a care, for it is not too late..."

"Give it to me!" he cried. 

"Then so be it..." they said in unison. Slowly they began to circle MacBeth and Demona. Scarab suddenly found himself wrapped in the ever expanding vortex.

"_What was done we now undo, save that which exists between our two...._

That he immortal life doth seek, shall in time it's benefits keep....

That she with claw and fang and wing, may 

No longer be linked to immortal king

The wizard he of ancient times, with his past and crimes

May eternally share that life's fire

him to this his hearts desire...."

"It's working!" Scarab gasped, as he felt the strange effects seeping into his wizened body. Already it seemed as if the aging was arrested.

* * *

Thailog desperately gripped Goliath's hands, pushing back against his mortal enemy. A dark mirror, the two foils rampaged and twisted. "Go now! Elisa... Chas... the others..."

"You are too late," Thailog laughed.

"You will not win..."

"Oh?" Thailog laughed. Elisa and the others burst into the main hall, sweeping Shabti left and right. Before them the walls flickered with wreathes of silver mist. It seeped as dry ice fog around the stones of the doorway to the next room.

"Stop right there!" Elisa shouted, then stopped dead. '

"Oh... crap..." Brooklyn gritted.

"Not them..." Lexington added.

"Yes, them," Chas whispered, Marianne still clutched in his arms. He passed her to Broadway, stepping forth.

"We're too late!" Lexington cried. An evil laugh resounded from Thailog.

"WE gotta..." Brooklyn moved. Only to be petrified in one place. Goliath lifted Thailog over his head, feeling the effects of the stone hardening all around him.

Elisa shook her head, cursing under her breath. "Now what?" she asked Chas.

"You fools you are too late!" Scarab laughed at them. "I am immortal!"

"No!" Elisa shouted, firing a bullet at him. It shot through the remaining eldrich fire, the Weird sisters turning their head in surprise.

The bullet embedded in Scarab's chest. For a moment he doubled over, then slowly rose. Elisa gasped at the trickle of blood stopping almost within seconds.

"Again we meet, Blacksmith..." said the Sisters. "Do you seek to interfere?"

"Is he immortal?"

"Indeed he is... but whether he benefits from it is to be determined... for he asked and did receive..." was the reply.

"You cannot stop me!" he laughed. Chas threw his sword at the sorcerer, who vanished in a puff of purple smoke. The Weird sisters merely looked on. MacBeth dropped gently to the ground, Demona somewhere nearby in her human form.

"Why?" Elisa demanded.

"It is not for you mortals to comprehend. Save that MacBeth is no longer within the spell. And now our work is done... for two are now still one... and forever doth the other's pain resound..."

They watched in awe as the Sisters vanished in a stream of triple fire. Demona slowly moaned as she woke up in her human form. "Stay right where you are!" Elisa said, leveling her gun.

"Stupid fool, you are too late. You cannot stop me now..." she laughed.

"What did you do?" Chas asked her.

"That is for me to find out," she said, slowly climbing to her feet. "But for the sake of your help, this fight is over..."

Suddenly the scarab beetle came out of the shadows. Sweeping her up in his talons, he laughed towards them both. "Farewell, fools!" came Scarab's echoing laughter as he blasted a hole in the roof. Chas and Elisa didn't even bother to stop him. 

Marianne stumbled in past them, moving towards MacBeth. Chas and Elisa followed. "We'd better split... before security sees this..."

"But what about the Gargoyles..." Marianne asked.

"They'll have to stay here..." she said, shaking her head. 

"I will be happy to move them back to the Castle," came a familiar voice, tinted by a loudspeaker. Chas hoisted MacBeth onto his shoulders as they saw Xanatos suddenly landing through the open hole.

"You took your time!" Elisa snarled at him.

He pulled off his helmet in a hiss of steam, and strode over to them. "Can I help it if I ran into some... opposition? And besides, if that flying scarab is what you are looking for, I summarily dealt with him..."

"What?"

"He's probably resting on the bottom of New York harbor by now..." Xanatos said calmly. "Now what about him?"

"He's still alive," Elisa put her head to MacBeth's back.

"I'll make certain he gets the treatment he needs... and Mr. Cassidy... you and Miss Ellis are welcome to return to the Aerie building..."

"We have much to talk about," Chas nodded, as he firmly gripped Marianne's hand. She flinched at the odd look in his eyes. Somehow he already knew something was amiss. And worst of all, Scarab had gained his immortality! What implications did this hold? Sickness erupted in the pit of her stomach, and she felt herself leaning against Chas for support.

* * *

Slowly MacBeth muttered and stirred, his eyes blinking open. As he glanced to his left and right he noticed the hospital bed. Immediately he sat bold upright, all set to panic. But the presence of Xanatos and Elisa Mazza steadied him.

"Welcome back, sleeping beauty," Xanatos said crisply, his deadpan humor apparent.

"Very amusing," MacBeth grumbled, rubbing his eyes. "But what about the sorcerer…he…"

"Has been dealt with," Xanatos said.

"We think..." Elisa added. Xanatos shook his head and gave a wry grin.

"You doubt me, Detective?" asked he.

"She is right. It's only a matter of time before he comes back again..." MacBeth muttered. A sense of relief came over the gray eyes.

"Why are you so cheerful..." Elisa asked him. "Scarab has your immortality!"

"Don't you realize... for the first time in one thousand years... it's over..." MacBeth said to her.

"What do you mean?" Elisa asked. "That scumbag won!"

"Exactly as I thought he would...."

"You mean to say he's achieved immortality?" Xanatos raised an eyebrow.

"Aye. But will he really enjoy it," MacBeth smiled, with a mischievous grin.

"What are you talking about?" Elisa asked.

"There is an old saying. Be Careful what you wish for... for you just might get it," MacBeth chuckled, edging his head and shoulders further up in the stack of pillows. "Immortality is something I have constantly cursed. In time I grew more and more desperate to destroy Demona… just so to end the centuries of torment…"

"Really," Xanatos said quietly. 

"Don't be getting any ideas..." Elisa warned him.

"How exactly did he do it?" Xanatos asked. "I thought you and Demona were linked…"

"Interfering with the Weird sisters is no a good idea," MacBeth said cryptically. "And 'twas them that changed things. But it means I am no longer under their curse... I'm a free man..."

"Free?" Elisa repeated.

"Free to die..." MacBeth smiled deeply. "What any man desires, to live a full life... to love...and know it will end..."

"Wait, you want to die?" Xanatos asked him.

"Oh not right away..." he smiled. "But to know there is an end... is worth that oumadon winning..."

Xanatos and Elisa shook their heads, and stared at each other nonplussed. They couldn't believe their ears. MacBeth's smile seemed so odd, as if the weight of a thousand years was lifted. Within her mind Elisa smiled. Goliath would have been proud of their one time enemy if he could see them now. This was not the MacBeth she had known at their first meeting.

* * *

"Mary look at me.... Did ye actually do it?"

Both Chas and Marianne sat quietly in a room at Castle Wyvern. Slowly Chas circled, turning on Marianne upon one booted heel. That look in his eyes was accusing after she had staggeringly told him the events of the past few hours. That sick feeling crept into her stomach yet again. She'd shrank away from his caresses, and he himself had stopped them once they were alone.

"Well..." she fumbled, not knowing what to do with her hands. She thrust them into her lap, and scrunched up her body miserably in his easy chair.

Chas drew up a chair from the desk, and planted one booted foot on the rung. Both arms he draped over the back of it, those blue eyes fixing right into hers. Low and calmly he asked, "Did ye or didn't ye?"

"Only... in the dreams... but not in reality!" she choked out. There it was said. She buried her head in her hands, feeling that same sense of hopelessness of a few months past. Would it never end? All she heard was that same grim silence.

"You must hate me now..." she said, looking up at him. But there was no frown, only a look of sadness in the blue eyes.

"I can understand," Chas said softly. The look in his eyes shifted to that of understanding.

"How... I was so scared to tell you... for I thought you would think I was cheating on you..."

"Technically, since it wasn't yer own body that did the deed... it's not cheating in the true sense. It was a chance for your ancestor to finish whatever business was due her. Truth is there are many of us with the Gift that have astral lovers."

"Chas... does this mean you cannot trust me? Is it over... can you forgive me?"

"I'll forgive ye... on one condition..."

"Being..."

"Never let it happen again... Not wi MacBeth ye hear!" he scolded. Soberly she nodded, wringing her hands. That sternness shivered her into silence, making her feel as if she wanted to run. However, she was determined not to run away this time. Like it or not, they were mates. No relationship was free of arguments.

"Do ye think every relationship is a walk in the park?" MacBeth said to her hours before. "Especially with that Scottish temper o' yuirs..."

"I guess it is true what they say..."

"Tis the fighting that makes the reconciliation that much sweeter," Chas said. Marianne started in her chair as he moved towards her. His arms were open to her.

"You... are not still angry..."

"Hmm, not forever," he said with a slight laugh as his brow touched hers. She felt the awkwardness and the desire to pull aside as she pushed him away.

"What..." he asked, as she moved away.

"I... don't think I deserve you sometimes," she sighed.

"Nau don't go and make me cross again," he put his hands on his hips, stepping into her way. "Just when I was all set t' forgive ye..."

"But you said..."

"I'd said I'd forgive ye... didn't I?" he said, taking her into his arms. "And I keep my word..."

"But I..."

"Ssh now..." he said, fingers over her lips. "Enough of the guilt. Tis enough that you came t' me honestly... and now we can put it behind us..."

She felt the gentle caress of his lips upon hers, and the warmth that surrounded her. So much more intense than any dream. Still she pulled away one last time.

"Can we put it behind us? I mean..."

He arched an eyebrow as if to ask, What do you mean by that?

"I mean... what about scarab..."

"I doubt he'll like the terms... o' his little gift. For the Weird sister's magic has its price. MacBeth has lost his immortality.... but Demona hasn't..."

"That means... that Demona and Scarab..."

"Right ye are," Chas nodded, with a slow grin. Marianne slowly shared the expression. And let Chas draw her close for another slow kiss. Somehow the guilt vanished within... and she couldn't help but wonder what this would all mean. Now that Scarab had his immortality, were the Guardians still threatened? Could Scarab deal with the pain of Demona's transformation. It was some consolation that the wizened sorcerer would share the aches and groans of her nightly affliction. It was strange justice indeed. And for MacBeth, how would he live his remaining years? With all the vigor of his l1th century life before it was rudely interrupted by those such as Gillcomain and Canmore?

Only time itself would tell, she told herself. Trite, but true. Would Chas and MacBeth ever end this strange feud, and would she come so close again to loosing she whom she loved…

* * *

The end of immortality, and the beginning of immortality… 


End file.
